


Winter Wonderland

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Holidays, I don't speak russian sorry!, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson thought that they'd already seen everything 1895 had to offer. Then came December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Written for monkeybard in response to the following prompt: **A sleigh ride.**
> 
> Warnings: Canon knowldge useful but not required. Some readers might spot a very obscure in-joke. I have ZERO knowledge of the Russian language. And yes, I know that the dates are different in the Russian Orthodox calendar, not just the celebrations. ;-)

  
  


##  Зимняя страна чудес (Winter Wonderland) 

  
  
  


I have travelled to many remarkable places in the years I have spent accompanying Sherlock Holmes on his cases. Most of these locations have not been glamorous, or exotic, but rather the reverse: the seamier undersides of half the cities in England; bleak, allegedly-haunted moors and desolate hamlets in the countryside; small hotels and traveler’s-rests in various parts of the Continent. These travels have expanded somewhat in scope since his ‘return’ from the dead, but not so much in glamour.

Not, that is, until the close of 1895. That year was already a remarkable one for cases. My friend had never been in better form, physically or mentally – and his increased fame meant that he had also never been so busy. By early December, I thought that the year could hold no more surprises. We had experienced every possible kind of case, used every mode of travel, worked with clients from the very top and bottom of society and every level in-between.

Then came an aristocratic Russian visitor with a truly unique problem for us to solve, and suddenly Holmes and I found ourselves hastily packing for a long journey. Our client remained in London. He procured first-class travel tickets and accommodations for us all the way, but it was still a bewildering, arduous journey involving a night-crossing of the Channel and multiple trains.

Finally, however, we arrived. Our client had promised us that he would telegraph ahead and make further arrangements, and events proved that his word was good in this much at least. We scarcely had time to feel the bitter, biting cold outside the station before we were whisked into an ornate sleigh. Servants briskly wrapped us in layers of furs and blankets before the coachman cracked his whip and off we went, down snow-and-ice covered streets in a fantastic, alien city. I looked up at the barely-visible skyline in wonder, admiring the edges of the buildings against a clear night sky filled with stars. Sounds were strangely muffled in the burningly-cold, crisp air. The horses’ hooves made surprisingly little noise, and even the bells on the harness sounded faint and strange.

“Санкт-Петербург,” Holmes said quietly, his agile tongue making music out of what my English stolidness could only render as ‘Saint-Petersburg.’ There was little light, but I could just make out his features and see that his eyes were bright with both excitement and humor. “My Russian is nearly non-existent, Watson, but fortunately French is still widely spoken amongst those we must investigate. It should serve well enough for most of those we will need to speak to.” He cocked his head, taking in the sights in rapid, quick movements of his eyes. “It’s a world away from London, and not just in terms of geography,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily. “Our Christmas is likely to be quite different, if we have the luxury to observe the holiday at all.”

I grinned at him, feeling the excitement of adventure and companionship singing in my veins. “My dear Holmes, far better Russia with you than plum pudding eaten alone in London. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 23, 2012


End file.
